There was nothing unfamiliar about this message. “She calls it fentanyl poisoning because she says her daughter, like many others, was not a substance abuser,” reported North Carolina’s Queen City News, that same month, of a bereaved mother. “‘Overdose’ has a stigma that many families feel is not a proper description of their loved ones.”

In June, an article in the New Republic related: “Families like the Capeloutos are adamant that their child did not experience some sort of self-imposed tragedy. Instead, they use the word ‘poisoned,’ which makes it clear there is a villain in the mix here—and it certainly was not their kid.” 

“I will never say my daughter died of a drug overdose,” the bereaved father told reporter Zachary Siegel. “She was deceived to death.”

“It was also important for me to define that these are not overdoses, these are poisonings,” said a mother at a drug-induced homicide sentencing in January, as reported by the Daily Sentinel of Grand Junction, Colorado. “My daughter was poisoned.”

The fentanyl poisoning narrative creates a hierarchy of grief that devalues people who died of overdose and their loved ones.

These quotes are not outliers, but among countless examples in recent years. They are emblematic of a dominant narrative around fentanyl—one that is being driven by parent-formed organizations. These bereaved parents, understandably seeking something to blame for their devastating losses, cast their children’s deaths as “fentanyl poisoning”—an act committed by someone else, and entirely distinct from overdose. 

“People who die from illicit fentanyl have been poisoned and did not deserve to die,” states the nonprofit Song For Charlie.

But what if the person knew they were consuming fentanyl?

A video the nonprofit posted in 2022 describes how a person could fatally overdose by “choosing” to drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels—in contrast with a person who died after taking a single shot, because the bottle actually contained cyanide. 

“An overdose occurs when a person ingests too much of a known substance, resulting in either illness or death,” the organization further states. “Fentapill deaths are different. The consumer is being deceived.”

In insisting on this contrast, the fentanyl poisoning narrative is deeply harmful. First, it creates a hierarchy of grief that devalues people who died of overdose and their loved ones. And second, it enables and promotes policies that cause still more suffering and grief.

Emphasizing the “innocence” of people who died from consuming fentanyl unknowingly contrasts them with others.

With the exception of suicide, no one intends to die. You may know you’re using fentanyl, but that does you little good if you don’t know the dose or the other contents. People aren’t dying of overdose because they’re “choosing” to take too much, as if these drugs came with accurate product labeling. 

The poisoning narrative emphasizes the “innocence” of people who died from consuming fentanyl unknowingly. In doing so, it contrasts them with others: the people who sold the drugs (guilty of murder); and people who knowingly used fentanyl (guilty of the choice that led to their overdose).

Any bereaved parent would wish to remember their child in their best light. None would wish to blame their child for actions that led to their death. Yet basing their child’s “innocence” on their unawareness of what they were consuming causes profound damage.

Death by overdose is already a stigmatized death. Parents who lost their children in this way suffer disenfranchised grief—neither acknowledged nor accepted as worthy by society. They are stigmatized as bad parents because their children were “addicts” who used drugs and died. Both the child and the parents are blamed for the death.

I work alongside such parents, members of the organization I serve, Broken No More. They and other parents loved their children with all their hearts. Many struggled alongside their children for years, doing all they could to keep them safe and alive. Some even bankrupted themselves on “rehabs” in trying to save their children. 

And while they were fighting to save their children’s lives, society stigmatized them, thus denying them support and services that could have helped keep their children alive. And all the while, they lived with anticipatory grief, knowing, every day, that the next phone call or knock at the door could be the one telling them of the death of their child. Many parents endured all of this for years, their struggle a testament to their love. 

And now, after all they have suffered, they are made to suffer more. The fentanyl poisoning message, with its hierarchy of “innocent” and “guilty” victims, debases their pain and grief as parents who loved their children no less. It devalues the lives of their children who were no less valuable.

No one has the right to do that. Not even parents who endure grief of their own. 

Whether the person bought a pressed pill off Snapchat or smoked fentanyl, their life was no less meaningful, and their death no less tragic. 

Why might they do this? Naturally, they would wish their child to be viewed as innocent. And in society’s eyes, If their child is innocent, then by extension, so are they. In this light, their grief is not disenfranchised. It is worthy of society’s acceptance. And if society accepts their grief as worthy, then their desire to seek revenge on the “dealer” is also seen as legitimate.

If, however, we recognize that all lives are equally precious, then we can see that this hierarchy of grief is a fiction—a fiction whose purpose is to allow some grieving parents to find a degree of solace from the horrific pain of losing their child, at the expense of others.  

This poisoning narrative has been adopted and amplified by law enforcement, prosecutors, politicians, and the DEA to enact more punitive drug laws, as I previously described for Filter. The DEA actively recruits these organizations, weaponizing their grief, to advance its agenda.  

The punitive drug laws championed by these parent groups will not only fail to save other parents’ children; they will cause more harm and more deaths among people who use drugs.

But a harmful hierarchy of grief exists only if we allow it to exist. It exists only if we accept that some lives are more valuable than others and that the grief of some parents is more valid than that of others.

There is another way. Many parents and others who lost loved ones to overdose understand the harms of punitive drug policies. In September, over 400 signed this open letter to lawmakers opposing these measures and calling, instead, for humane drug policies based on public health, science and harm reduction.

We must reject all narratives that foster the belief that some lives are more valuable than others. Every life is precious; every drug-related death a preventable tragedy. Whether the person bought a pressed pill off Snapchat or smoked fentanyl, their life was no less meaningful, and their death no less tragic. 

Photograph via Pxhere/Public Domain

The post “Fentanyl Poisoning” Narrative Imposes a Hierarchy of Grief appeared first on Filter.

For over 100 years this country has attempted to eliminate certain drug use through policies based on the interdiction of drugs and the arrest and incarceration of people who use and sell them. And for over 100 years these policies have failed. This failure is evidenced by over 109,000 deaths in 2022 and a projection of over 1,000,000 deaths in the decade 2020 to 2029.

For over seven years I have served as a board member of Broken No More, an organization founded by and primarily representing parents who lost their child to overdose. Our members understand that to keep other parents from burying their children, this country must discard its drug war, and instead pursue policies based on public health, science and harm reduction.

But over the last few years, other bereaved parents have formed organizations with views diametrically opposed to those of Broken No More. And they have become a powerful force in this country.

Against all evidence and humanity, many states are implementing more punitive drug laws, such as lower amounts of fentanyl triggering mandatory minimum sentences, sentencing enhancements for fentanyl possession and sales, and drug-induced homicide (DIH) laws.

A key driving force behind their spread is organizations formed by parents whose children died of what they term fentanyl poisoning.

Under these DIH laws, if a person sells, delivers or shares fentanyl and a death occurs, they can be charged with homicide. Evidence shows that they not only fail to prevent deaths, but increase them by dissuading people from seeking emergency aid. They fuel more incarceration, with racist outcomes. And many of the people prosecuted are friends or family members who were sharing drugs with the person who overdosed.

These laws are supported and promoted by politicians from both sides of the aisle, as well as prosecutors and law enforcement.

But a key driving force behind their spread is organizations formed by parents whose children died of what they term fentanyl poisoning—organizations such as Drug-Induced Homicide, Families Against Fentanyl and Facing Fentanyl.

The grief of these parents touches on the unbearable. To read their stories, to see them testify in legislative hearings holding a picture of their dead child, is heartbreaking. But their grief, no matter how devastating, does not confer validity on their beliefs. Their agenda, however sincerely conceived, will cause more deaths.

These parent-formed organizations have come to dominate the national narrative regarding fentanyl. They have done so with a simple but powerful message: “My child was not an addict. They did not intend to die. They were deceived. They thought they were buying oxycodone but the dealer sold them fentanyl. My child did not overdose. The dealer poisoned my child.”

While some of these organizations emphasize different goals, they would agree with some or all of the below:

* Establish explicit DIH laws in every state

* Increase the number of DIH prosecutions and convictions

* More punitive laws for fentanyl possession and sales

* Have fentanyl declared a Weapon of Mass Destruction

* Have trafficking groups designated as terrorist organizations

* Organize to lobby effectively at the local, state and national level

* Support law enforcement, prosecutors and politicians that are aligned with their goals

And then there’s the Drug Enforcement Administration. In June 2022, the DEA held its first National Family Summit: “DEA invited representatives from over 80 organizations formed mostly by parents who have experienced the profound loss of a child due to a drug poisoning or overdose.”

The agency then followed up by holding local Family Summits to engage more of these organizations: “During the week of November 14, DEA field divisions across the country will host local Family Summits in their community in order to bring together families who have lost loved ones to drug poisonings or overdoses, federal partners, and community prevention groups.”

The DEA is actively recruiting and collaborating with parent organizations that are on board with its program.

The DEA also created a memorial at its headquarters: “a special exhibit, The Faces of Fentanyl, to commemorate the lives lost from fentanyl poisoning.” And it is this “fentanyl poisoning” narrative that is being used by law enforcement, prosecutors and politicians to push for more punitive drug laws and, in particular, DIH laws for fentanyl.

The DEA, with its vested interest in upholding and escalating the drug war, is actively recruiting, collaborating and partnering with parent organizations that are on board with that program.

This is seen in the DEA’s goals for the National Family Summit: “This first-ever event will provide opportunities for DEA to share information on the scope of current drug threats, exchange ideas with these parent groups on how DEA could support them in their work, learn of their local efforts, ask them for their help with sharing the One Pill Can Kill fake pill awareness campaign in their communities, identify areas for further collaboration, and build or reinforce existing relationships and partnerships.”

The power of the grief and pain of these parents and their stories of loss is a potent weapon for the DEA.

Let’s be clear. These parent-formed organizations are being used by those who profit from racist drug-war policies. They are being used by organizations and politicians who are weaponizing fentanyl to further their agendas.

Parent after parent came to the microphone to deliver the same message: The dealer poisoned my child. Such testimony is almost impossible for lawmakers to resist.

Because these parent-formed organizations, with their narrative of dealers poisoning their children, have become the face of the fentanyl-involved overdose crisis, it is to the benefit of law enforcement, prosecutors, politicians and the DEA to support them and increase their power. And as they become more powerful, voices for humane drug policies and harm reduction are drowned out by emotive drug-war rhetoric.

I have no interest in condemning people who have suffered the most terrible loss a parent can suffer. But their loss endows them with a moral authority that others do not have. This moral authority gives them a voice. And these parent-formed organizations are using that voice, eagerly amplified by drug warriors, to drive this country toward more punitive drug policies.

I have witnessed legislative hearings debating fentanyl DIH bills in Colorado and California, where parent after parent came to the microphone, with tears and anger, to deliver the same message: The dealer poisoned my child with fentanyl. Such testimony is almost impossible for lawmakers to resist.

But emotion and a desire for retribution are poor bases for drug policy. These organizations are embracing the very policies that have resulted in the saturation of the illicit opioid supply with fentanyl and other synthetics. These are the very laws that put a a substance containing fentanyl in their children’s hands. Their deaths are not due to a poisoner, but to the toxicity of the illicit opioid supply created and sustained by drug-war policies. Their support of these policies ensures that more people will die. And more parents will bury their children.

Many other parents who have lost a child to overdose have very different views. They share the moral authority that comes with their loss. But despite the intensity of their emotions, they adhere to the evidence.

Bereaved parents can be powerful allies of harm reduction. But they need the community’s support to do this work.

Broken No More is mobilizing these parents and seeking allies to support harm reduction interventions that have been proven to save lives—and call for an end to punitive drug laws.

We can win. In California this year, Aimee Dunkle, a board member for Broken No More and executive director of the Solace Foundation, testified in opposition to a fentanyl DIH bill, Alexandra’s Law. She lost her 20-year-old son, Ben, to an overdose.

Her powerful testimony, along with the efforts of Glenn Backes (Ella Baker Center), Jeannette Zanipatin (Drug Policy Alliance) and many others, succeeded in defeating this bill.

Bereaved parents can be powerful allies of harm reduction. They can successfully push back against these punitive drug laws. But they need the community’s support to do this work. If you care about saving lives, this is your fight too.

Photograph via PublicDomainPictures.net

The Influence Foundation, which operates Filter, previously received a restricted grant from the Drug Policy Alliance to support a Drug War Journalism Diversity Fellowship.

The post Bereaved Parents Weaponized by DEA to Back More Drug War appeared first on Filter.